


of those in love and scared to be lonely

by acid_glue234



Series: you're just another song and dance [7]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Mild Language, New York City, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Valentine's Day, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1831510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acid_glue234/pseuds/acid_glue234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel can feel the dampness of Santana's towel against her back, and she closes her eyes as she tries to step away, but Santana just forces all of her weight into Rachel, pushing her further into the counter. (Part VII of the "you're just another song and dance" series, Rachel's POV)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. love is greed

Waking up in the morning is like peering through the bottom of a long crystal glass—blurry, wavering, unclear—and she blinks once, twice, three times before her vision finally comes into focus. Sunlight streams in between the slits of her curtains, and Rachel uses her hand to cover her eyes as it shines directly on her.

She rolls over with a grunt and then stuffs her face into a pillow to escape the painful gleam of sun shining at her face. The left side of her bed is cold and empty, but Rachel doesn't really know what she expected. She and Santana share a bed on some nights, mostly when Santana can't sleep and wakes up in the middle of the night.

There's always wine on her breath, and Rachel stupidly wishes for a reenactment of New Years, but Santana only falls into the mattress, mumbles something along the lines of _sleep tight_ and then drifts off to sleep. It's been happening more and more ever since they've made up, and Rachel doesn't know what to make of it.

As Rachel tries to hide from the sunlight peeking into her room, she curls up into a ball and then shivers underneath the blankets. Though chilly, it's going to be a nice day. Sure, there's still snow on the ground, and more than likely there'll be another blizzard before springtime, but at least it's finally stopped raining.

Rachel doesn't mind a few showers every now and then, but last week it had rained every single day; cold, pouring rain that falls without mercy, soaking you to the bone until shivers and shudders are the only thing vibrating through your body. _That_ kind of rain.

One of the perks of living the city is that she can easily save money by avoiding transportation and walking everywhere, but when the weather is cruel and fierce, she has no other choice but to either put up with the storms or pay for a taxi to take her to her destination.

Since Rachel doesn't have much time in her busy schedule to find a job and actually work, her fathers have been very generous with keeping her account full to pay for all of her necessities. But she doesn't want to take her parents for granted, so she makes sure to huddle next to Santana underneath one of their umbrellas on the way to Cobblestones whenever the rain comes out to play.

Rachel rubs at her forehead groggily just thinking about it. Thank goodness that hellish week is over. Today is a new day, and she sighs in relief as she scoots out of bed and looks out the window to find no clouds in the sky. She squints through the brightness of the sunlight reflecting off the snow in the middle of the alleyway. It's just starting to turn a muddy black and brown, so Rachel admires the whiteness of the snow before the city seeps into its purity.

The pipes in the walls creak. Somebody's in the shower. It must be Santana, because Kurt stayed over at Henry's last night. He stays over there a lot on the weeknights, because Henry’s place is closer to campus than the loft is.

Rachel knows that Kurt's been a bit wary of their relationship, even though he refuses to say so, but at least he's making an effort by meeting Henry halfway. Henry might be a little jumpy and impulsive, but he cares about Kurt and really loves him, and that's all Rachel wishes for her best friend. Kurt's lucky to have somebody who cares about him so much, someone who's been here to mend his broken heart after what happened between him and Blaine, so it would be stupid for Kurt to take advantage of his boyfriend.

Rachel only hopes Kurt didn't rush into this relationship, thinking it would be a good rebound and distraction from his thoughts of Blaine. Rachel's not going to lie and say she hasn't considered doing the same thing. She'd had more than one naughty request to help get over Finn when they first broke up, but none of them were who she really wanted. She's moved on from Finn, faster and easier than she originally thought she would, honestly, but now the real challenge is trying to get over Santana.

It was probably easier getting over Finn because she hasn't even seen him in over four months, but her feelings for Santana, however, are going to be a struggle to get rid of.

They see each other every day, one way or another. In the bathroom, in the kitchen, on the street to Cobblestones, _at_ Cobblestones, in the living area, on the couch, in front of the television, in _bed_. They talk every day, about aimless things, like what's on TV tonight, or what they're having for dinner, or whose turn it is to take out the trash, or when was the last time somebody cleaned the bathtub. There's not a day they don't touch in some manner, whether it's a quick hug, a long embrace, a silly high-five, or a love tap on the ass.

It's always something, and Rachel will probably never get over that as long as she lives in this loft, but she's just going to have to learn to deal with it. This was her loft first, so she's not moving out, and there's really no way of telling Santana that she has to leave without explaining _everything_ , which then means she'd have to tell Kurt, and Henry will find out by extension, and Henry knows everyone, so surely the whole city would know all about how she's crushing on Santana Lopez in less than a day or two.

It doesn't really matter anyway. Rachel doesn't want Santana to leave. The apartment would be awfully lonely without her random dance parties in the kitchen, or her desire to watch programs on TV about aliens and historical figures, or her lengthy diatribes on why Woody Allen is completely overrated as both a director and screenwriter. At this point—and as embarrassing as it is to admit—Rachel needs Santana. She's almost become a second skin, which might be considered unhealthy, perhaps.

Whenever Santana crashes at Cole's place, it feels as if something's missing from the apartment, and Rachel's tried to brush off the feeling—she's tried to tell herself she's acting delirious, because there just has to be something mentally wrong with her—but it won’t go away. What she's feeling is real. She's in way over her head, and it's much too late to break out of it now.

Nothing much has changed, and Santana is still Santana, meaning she has no clue about anything, but for the first time in a while, Rachel thinks she can be okay with that. Obviously it’s not in her nature to keep things concealed, such as her sexuality and emotions and desires, but this is about principle and holding together a friendship that practically just started. Rachel likes being Santana’s friend. Despite everything that happened in high school, they actually make quite the duo, and it’s fun when they can hang out together, just the two of them.

She hates to exclude Kurt, but even though he's gay there are just certain things that only girls can talk about with their girls. It’s not something Rachel truly understood until she became friends with Santana. Girl talk used to sound like a bunch of gossip and whiny noises to Rachel—although that's kind of what girl talk is—but when Santana girl talks, she puts her entire personality into it, with hand gestures and expletives and reenactments and, yeah…

Rachel makes toast for breakfast, because there's nothing else to eat in the kitchen other than cheese and bacon. It's Santana's turn to go grocery shopping, but she's been putting it off until she gets paid at the end of the week, which is in about two days, so that's another reason why Rachel's so grumpy this morning.

She rubs at her tired eyes and thinks of her assignments that are due in a few weeks to withhold from thinking about other things that should not be on her mind this early in the morning. After about five minutes, the water stops running and the pipes stop creaking. Rachel's just about to push the prongs down on the toaster when Santana comes out of the bathroom in only a towel wrapped around her body, her wet hair pinned up into a tight bun.

Rachel averts her eyes, staring blankly at the toaster as she pulls a hand through her unruly hair. This happens almost every day—because Santana has no shame in her naked state, and she certainly shouldn't, seeing as her body is amazing, well-deserved, and simply gorgeous—but Rachel blushes anyway, more out of shyness than actual embarrassment, and makes sure to keep her eyes focused on the tiled countertop.

"Shower's all yours," Santana says, coming up from behind her and resting a chin on Rachel's shoulder.

Rachel can feel the dampness of Santana's towel against her back, and she closes her eyes as she tries to step away, but Santana just forces all of her weight into Rachel, pushing her further into the counter as she sneakily plucks a piece of toast out of one of the prongs. Santana jumps away with a laugh as she waves the toast in front of her face and then smiles through a bite.

(Rachel could raise an argument about it, but her dance class starts soon, and she really should be getting into the shower. Miss July has been giving her a break from the cruel mocking and relentless judging as of late, so Rachel's not about to ruin all of that just because she likes how Santana tends to get flirty when they argue over needless things like stealing each other's food. And besides, she'll see her roommate later, so there's always time for innocent flirting when they meet up again.)

Rachel rolls her eyes and tries not to smile, but it's hard sometimes. It's not easy pretending to be bothered by someone you like so much. The unbalance between caring too much and not caring at all is a tricky one to figure out. She can't be too standoffish, because then Santana will accuse her of falling back into their old cycle, the one they just broke free of. But then, she can't be too amorous either, or Santana might figure out that Rachel likes her way more than she should.

"Any hot water left?" Rachel inquires, taking a hearty bite out of her dry toast, and Santana feigns hurt. 

"Rach, you should know me better than that by now," she drawls mischievously, eyebrow quirked up, and yeah, that statement could mean practically anything.

(Rachel  _knows_ Santana. They get each other. They basically read each other's minds. It's like that missing puzzle piece you've been looking for finally reappearing again without any explanation as to where it's been the entire time. But then, Santana can do something so out of the blue and out of character that Rachel finds herself completely puzzled. Like, how Santana's suddenly started typing up pages and pages of who-knows-what on her laptop, refusing to show or tell anyone what she's writing except for Henry, who also refuses to tell Rachel, albeit reluctantly.)

"You ready for later?" Santana asks her, and Rachel glances up with an odd smile and shrugs her shoulders.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she says honestly, and then asks, "How about you? Are you prepared?"

"To face those assholes? Not really." Santana twists her lips into a deep frown. A wrinkle appears between her eyebrows as she tightens her grip on her towel and then slowly rounds the counter. "But I'll have to sooner or later, so why not today, right?"

Nodding, Rachel discreetly watches Santana as she shuffles through a pile of magazines and mail on the countertop. She really wishes Santana would put on some clothes; firstly because there's a chilly draft in the apartment, and secondly because Rachel can't stop looking at the defined muscle of Santana's shoulder blades, or the way her calves clench when she strolls around on her bare tiptoes, or the drops of water that skate out of her damp hair and all the way down the smooth expanse of her back.

Rachel clears her throat and forces herself to snap out of it, because those are not thoughts she should be entertaining, ever, and so she swivels around to face the opposite counter. She turns on the radio to drown out the odd mixture of stifling silence and the aggressive sound of traffic seeping up from the noisy streets below.

As soon as the music's on, Santana starts to move her hips back and forth to the beat as she flips through the newspaper, and Rachel is not nearly awake enough for this. She sneaks out of the kitchen unseen, for the most part, and it's actually a pleasant surprise when the water from the showerhead doesn't completely scald nor freeze her to death.

\--

Not much has changed since the beginning of the semester. For instance; things are still awkward between Rachel and Daniel, Angela remains in the middle of their thing, and Gwen tries to ignore the thing and impress Daniel, but he never pays her any mind.

Dance class is an uncomfortable experience, never mind the fact Cassandra July is still a bitch. She might have stopped bitching at Rachel, but that doesn't mean she's stopped bitching entirely.

Not only is her maniacal dance instructor putting her on edge, but as Daniel tries to focus his eyes elsewhere, Rachel still manages to catch his longing gaze in the reflection of the mirror. Despite everything, she still feels bad for leading him on. It's exhausting, to say the least, because although she and Daniel weren't super close friends, they were still cool despite the odd tension Daniel's presence would sometimes bring their outings.

And poor Angela; it's obviously an inconvenience for her to have to split her time between friends now that Daniel refuses to hang out with Rachel under any circumstances. She feels bad about it, of course, because he's a nice guy, but this experience has also been extremely frustrating. Who says that just because a guy is nice, a girl has to automatically like him? That's not how the world works, and Rachel should know that better than anyone.

It's one of the many reasons she hasn't yet told Santana how she feels. It wouldn't be done purposefully, of course, but there's no way Rachel wants to guilt trip her roommate the way Daniel has with Rachel. It's unfair and totally out of line, so if Daniel's going to act like a baby over this and ignore her, Rachel will do the same.

"Hey, you coming to Big Lenny's after class?" Angela offers, dropping her bookbag against the wall as she unravels her earphones.

Gwen grimaces, because she can't stomach the food they serve there, and Rachel shakes her head, pleased to not have to come up with an excuse this time. Tying her hair up into a messy bun, Rachel tells them, "Santana's coming by to pick me up today."

Gwen and Angela share an amused look, and then Angela says, "Well, isn't that cute and not at all couple-ish like."

Rachel resists the urge to roll her eyes as she begins stretching and warming up for class. Okay, so maybe it _is_ couple-ish like—whatever that means, exactly—but she and Santana tend to do a lot of couple-ish things together, like rubbing each other's feet after exhausting days in the city, or like playing footsie under the table, or like finishing each other's sentences, or like eating off the same plate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

 _We're just close_ is Santana's reasoning for their sudden domesticity, and Rachel agrees, but Gwen has other theories. She's only been in their dance class since the beginning of the new semester, having transferred from the Manhattan School of Music because they wouldn't give her the necessary amount of financial aid she needed in order to continue her education.

Gwen is probably one of the nicest people Rachel's ever met. She's soft spoken and tiny—tinier than Rachel even, which she didn't even know was possible—and she's full of more optimism than her small body can probably handle. Rachel doesn't think she's ever had this many friends ever in her life, and they all like her for being herself, which is definitely a fresh breath of air compared to the Quinn Fabrays of high school.

"Is Santana hot?" Gwen asks, rifling through her backpack before pulling out a roll of tape to wrap her ankles with.

" _So_ hot," Angela breathes out through a smirk, and Rachel nods, because yeah.

Gwen purses her lips as she slides to the floor in a split and then sits down with her legs stretched out. "And gay?"

Rachel wonders how much flexibility it would take to accomplish that amount of bending as Angela laughs into her chest. "Super gay," she says, like she knows for a fact, and okay, she does know for a fact because that's just common knowledge by now, but Rachel still gets a little bit jealous of Angela every now and then.

It might be dumb and unreasonable, but there's no mistaking Angela holds a close resemblance to Brittany Pierce, the ex-love of Santana's life, and there's also no mistaking that Santana planned on doing something legit with Angela until she realized she was only projecting her leftover feelings for Brittany onto her.

Nobody holds any hard feelings over it, obviously, because Angela might like to attract girls' attention and admire them from afar, but she's as straight as they come, and Rachel's just glad she and Santana never slept together. That would've made things awkward and very hard for her to still be Angela's friend. That horrid green monster is a nasty little thing.

Gwen reaches forward until her stomach is touching her knees and then peeks up at Rachel in confusion. "But she doesn't like you?"

Rachel stretches her arm across her torso and then shrugs the best she can. "We've known each other since high school, and I doubt she sees me as anything oth—"

"Basically, Santana's hot, gay, and extremely blind," Angela says, cutting her off.

" _Angela_."

"But she's gay, and you're gorgeous, Rachel. How can she not be into you?"

"Not exactly how it works, G," Angela says, from where she's sitting on the floor, stretching forward to touch her toes with a hitched groan.

"How do you know she's not into you if you never asked?" Gwen wants to know.

"Santana's the type of person who goes after what she wants. If she really wanted me, I would've been hers by now."

Gwen scratches at her eyebrow. "Well, you'll never know unless you tell her. She could have a crush on you and just be ignoring her feelings because she thinks you don't like her back," she suggests, lifting her leg to the barre, and oh how Rachel wishes that were true, but other than the fleeting looks and the innocent flirting, Santana's given no other signs as to how she feels about Rachel. "I once spent three years crushing on a guy who felt the same way about me, but we were too busy worrying about labels and the friendzone to stop being stupid and just be together."

Rachel grips on to the barre tightly and then sighs, "This isn't the same thing. I don't mean to sound pessimistic, but I am certainly the last person Santana would ever consider." Angela gives her a look through the mirror, lower lip poking out pathetically, but Rachel can only shrug her shoulders, because it is what it is, and she's basically accepted that Santana will never feel the same way. "I doubt Santana wants, never mind _needs_ me right now. She's still hung up on her ex-girlfriend from high school, and she's casually sleeping with Cole LeBlanc, so..."

Gwen winces. "So, baggage?"

"Loads of it," Angela says, shaking her head. Blue eyes roll up to the ceiling for a moment before narrowing back down on Rachel. There's that sympathy again, and Rachel tries to ignore it, but Angela's eyes are so clear and piercing that it's kind of difficult. "Santana needs a zip code for the amount of women she's leading on. The girl she wants doesn't want her, and Santana never gives the girls who want her the time of day. The annoying cycle never ends, Rachel." Angela stretches her calf back and then leans on the barre for balance. Her eyes cut to Rachel seriously. "You deserve someone more stable and aware of their emotions."

"But that's—no, Santana's..."

"I swear, if you say complicated."

Gwen clicks her tongue. "Don't be so mean, Angie. She's a smitten kitten, and I can empathize. It sucks seeing somebody you like in such a bright light, when realistically they're kinda damaged," she mumbles, biting down on the corner of her lip apologetically. "That definitely makes it harder to see all of their faults and flaws when you paint them as your picture of perfection."

Rachel covers her face with her hands. "You guys are ridiculous. I'm not blinded by this...this—"

"Love?" Angela guesses.

"Lust?" Gwen tries.

"Big boobs?"

"Angela, shut up." Rachel shakes her head and then laughs humorlessly at her friends' suggestions. "No, this is none other than a small, innocent crush."

"You're still calling it that?" Angela groans, flexing her biceps as she stretches her arms up toward the ceiling. "C'mon, Rachel, grow up. You're hot for your hot roommate. Super _fucking_ hot," she sing songs, teasingly. "Suck it up and admit that you love her."

Rachel grimaces at the finality in Angela's words and then pouts. "Fine, okay," she mumbles, blushing profusely, "It is quite possible that I might love her on some inconceivable level. Happy?"

Angela grunts in annoyance as she pops a knot in her back and then rolls her neck around her shoulders. "Only if you are. This is _your_ problem."

"But is this really a problem?" Gwen wonders, raising an eyebrow as she smiles up at Rachel. "I think it's kind of sweet."

Rachel catches Angela rolling her eyes in the reflection of the mirror. "Yeah, well, not if you're caught in the middle of it."

Both she and Gwen follow Angela's line of vision, and Daniel is looking right at Rachel from where he's warming up in the corner of the studio. He quickly glances away when Rachel catches his eye, pretending as if he was never even looking, and Gwen lowers her head, sighing despondently, because if this was _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ , Rachel would be cast as Hermia, Daniel as Demetrius, Gwen as Helena, Angela as Puck, and Santana as Lysander, because everybody likes somebody else, and chaos is bound to ensue sooner rather than later.

\--

After a fresh shower, Rachel's packing up her duffle bag in the back of the studio when Santana slinks into the room, hands tucked deep into her pockets. She's never been here before, so Rachel supposes Santana probably thinks she's lost. Rachel calls out her name, and when Santana's eyes find her, a lopsided smile pulls across her cheeks.

Angela nudges Rachel in the shoulder and gives her a look as she heads out with Daniel, who looks like he really wants to say something to Santana but thankfully thinks better of it before trailing after Angela with a slow shuffle of his feet.

Santana saunters up to her and together they watch Cassandra July bitch out a student. Rachel would stay and do damage control, but she's more excited about going home for the weekend. When she first left Lima, she didn’t think she'd ever want to go back, but it's been five months since then, and she misses her parents and her room and her old mattress like crazy. There are just certain things about home that she can't live without—not for _too_ long, at least—and it's also a plus that she's going home for a very special occasion, so there's that too.

"Your teacher is hot, but what a fucking bitch."

Santana's words snap Rachel out of her head, and she glances over at the poor sophomore getting chewed out for jumping a beat and a half too early. "You have no idea," Rachel says, ignoring the fact Santana thinks Cassandra is hot.

And of course Rachel's noticed that her instructor has taut abs and a pretty face, but it makes her a little insecure sometimes to find out Santana could basically find any woman hot if they have the right assets, so what does that make Rachel? Just another hot girl with a fine ass when she wears the right pair of jeans? It's a stupid and trivial question, but Rachel can't help but feel inferior to every girl surrounding them whenever she's with Santana.

Rachel's hair is still damp from her shower, so she steals Santana's beanie and tugs it over her ears, and Santana doesn't seem to mind as she shoulders Rachel's duffle bag with a grunt. "We better get going if we don't want to miss our flight," Santana says, wrapping an arm around Rachel's shoulders as they make their way out of the studio. "Kurt's waiting with the cab downstairs, and he'll throw a hissy fit if we don't make like a tree."

\--

There's hustle and bustle everywhere, travelers pushing and squeezing through crowds and throngs of people with giant suitcases and luggage, cell phones pressed against their ears as they rush off towards their flights and gates.

Rachel breathes steadily and tries to remind herself that this is the reason she wanted to live in New York.

There is always movement, beautifully chaotic masses of action and the unpredictable. She watches a man in a business suit shouting at no one in particular, but then he turns his head and there’s a bluetooth in his ear. There's a woman pushing a stroller, and as she passes by, Rachel cranes her neck to peek inside only to find a cat dressed in a bonnet and bib.

But that’s the unexpected for you. She can’t even begin to tell of all the crazy she’s seen since coming to New York, and yes, it can definitely get overwhelming at times—trying to juggle the excitement of the city with the stress of her schoolwork—but Rachel’s making it happen. She has so far, at least, and as long as she keeps her head above the roaring rapids of insanity, she’ll be able to do it.

Santana tells her almost every day that if anyone can defeat the odds, it’s her. Now, Rachel’s not the type of girl who needs encouragement and ass-kissing—she’d like to consider herself a self-motivated individual, and she had no choice but to be that way in high school with all of the crap her peers put her through—but she has to admit it is sometimes nice to hear such kind words travel from Santana’s lips to her ears.

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and Mr. Schuester is finally getting married. When they’d first received the invitation, Santana had rolled her eyes, muttering on about how a Valentine’s Day wedding is the corniest thing ever, and maybe it’s the romantic in her, but Rachel think it’s kind of sweet.

They’re going to remember this day for the rest of their lives, so they might as well do it in style on one of the most romantic days of the year. Santana’s a cynic, so she thinks it’s really stupid, but Rachel presumes her detachment of the holiday has something to do with seeing Brittany again, for the first time since their breakup.

It’ll also be the first time Rachel's seeing Finn again since...well, since _before_ their breakup. He was originally planning on going into the military, but then changed his mind at the last minute. Then he was going to follow Puck out to Los Angeles, but he didn’t have enough money to afford a flight, never mind living arrangements. Or food.

Eventually, he enrolled into Lima Community College, which is really only fifteen minutes away from their high school. Rachel was proud of him, of course, because at least it was something, but then he dropped out after only a month, because apparently he forgot college involved studying and actually going to class, unlike their high school. So, now he’s teaching the glee club while Mr. Schuester’s been away at some conference, which Rachel doesn’t really get, because how can Finn even do that without a degree? Regardless, soon after he landed that job is when the breakup occurred, and Rachel hasn’t spoken to him since, so who knows what that boy is up to now.

Santana fishes out her fake ID on their way to the bar near the waiting area, and Rachel almost forgets what they were just talking about, too distracted by the movement of Santana’s lips to remain completely attentive, so Rachel asks her to repeat.

"Do you like to sing?" Santana asks again, leaning up against the counter.

Rachel blinks. "Of course," she says, because that sentence shouldn’t even be formed into an inquisition.

Smirking, Santana snaps her fingers to get the bartender’s attention. "Do you think you're a good singer?"

 _Oh_.

Now she remembers what they were talking about. A shudder runs down Rachel’s back. Unthinkingly, she had asked a very personal question of Santana when the taxi dropped them off at the airport, but now she’s kind of regretting it. Santana takes things at face value, and she likes it when people see her side of things.

Rachel is very opinionated herself, which is why she’s so inquisitive in the first place, but suddenly she’s wishing her stubborn need to know anything and everything would just cease to exist for a little while. It’s been getting her into a lot of trouble lately, and it appears curiosity killed the appetite, because now Rachel can’t even hold down the bag of pretzels she was just snacking on.

She pushes the bag aside and then glances away with a terse nod. "Yes," she mutters lowly.

"Do you sing a lot because of those two factors?" Santana asks, grinning, and Rachel rolls her eyes.

"Santana, I don't see how—"

"Just answer the question,” Santana instructs, quirking her top lip, and Rachel manages to keep from staring. Barely. Her eyes flit to the side, but she can still see Santana's amused smile out of the corner of her eye.

Rachel presses her lips together and sighs through her nose. Reluctantly, she pries her mouth open to mutter, "...yeah."

Santana lifts her shoulder into a quick shrug. "It's the same thing with me and sex."

"I doubt singing and—"

"I like sex,” Santana says, winking at the bartender as he hands her a margarita. “I'm good at sex. So, I have a lot of it. And that, Rachel, is why singing and sex are the fucking same.”

Rachel considers herself a fairly good actress. Even though she’s never taken any professional classes until this year, her theatre arts professor says she’s one of the best in class and has even commemorated her performance in their last in-class showing of _In The Woods_.

She’ll admit, reluctantly, that her acting chops aren’t exactly up to par with the likes of Angelina Jolie or Sandra Bullock, but she’s working her way up there, and that’s how she’s able to keep an impartial expression on her face as Santana continues to stomp on her heart without even realizing it.

There’s not much a person can say to an argument like that, but Rachel tries anyway. Well, that’s until a man carrying a satchel comes up to them. He’s tall and thin, has a nice head of hair and a full beard, and he also looks a little bit gay by the way he’s swaying his hips so enthusiastically, but that’s a stereotypical thought, and Rachel hates thinking that way, so she pushes it aside and burns the assumption to the ground.

But then he opens his mouth and starts talking, and Santana rolls her eyes and sips from her margarita as a tiny smile creeps across her lips. Rachel smirks too, because random men flirting with them tends to happen whenever they’re out together in the city, but never has a man so out of their league ever attempted a go at it. Rachel kind of admires him for that, but then it turns out the guy is a total douche—Santana’s words, not hers—when he doesn’t back off after Santana tells him she’s not interested.

He laughs, leaning into her further, and Santana grimaces as she shifts sideways in her seat. “What are you, a lesbian or something?” he asks.

“Yeah, actually,” Santana says, arching an eyebrow, just waiting for the guy to say something dumb. Rachel’s kind of waiting for it too.

But the guy’s eyes just widen comically as he looks between Santana and Rachel. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” he says, directing the apology at Rachel. “I didn’t mean to flirt with your girlfriend right in front of you.”

Santana balks, and then squeaks quite unattractively as she bites back a snort. "Wha—fuck, no,” she says adamantly, waving him off as she tries not to smile too wide. “No. No _way_. Rachel's like my little sister. I’d never—we’d _never_ , ever date. Not in a million fucking years."

Remember what she said earlier about acting? Well, an actress can only play a part for so long. Rachel’s never been stabbed in the chest, of course, but if it feels anything like what she’s feeling now, Rachel greatly admires the survivors of those who have recovered from this pain.

Oh, dear God, is that how Santana sees her? As her little sister? Is that how she perceives their relationship? Santana's only five months older, so Rachel's not that much younger than her. Somehow, the claim makes Rachel’s crush on Santana seem incestuous in some regard. If Santana looks at Rachel as if she’s her little sister, what the hell is Rachel supposed to do with that?

She tries to clear the sudden knot in her throat with an awkward cough as the guy looks between them with scoping eyes. His eyes land on Rachel, and even though the guy’s a douche, he does seem astoundingly perceptive.

“Well, I think you’d make a nice couple,” he says warmly, casting one more gentle glance at Rachel before walking off, and then without further ado, Santana literally bursts out laughing. Like, she laughs so hard that tears come out of her eyes and she has to cover her mouth with her hand to refrain from drawing too much attention.

Rachel blushes deeply, rolling her eyes away from Santana as her roommate actually doubles over and grabs her stomach. Rachel’s stomach is aching too, suddenly, but definitely not because of the same reasons.

“I don’t see what’s so funny, Santana,” she mutters.

“Are you fucking serious? That guy thought we were together," Santana says through a chuckle. "He totally thought you were my girlfriend or something.”

“And?”

“And what?” Santana wipes away a tear as she tries to catch her breath. “Oh my God, that is fucking hilarious."

Rachel knows it’s unwarranted, but it still hurts anyway. It’s not like she spends much time entertaining the thought of actually being Santana’s girlfriend, because those thoughts are a waste of time—it's ridiculous to even imagine Santana ever feeling the same way, so she tries to push those ideas away as much as possible—but sometimes she does slip up and wonder what it would be like to be able to kiss Santana whenever she felt like it, or tell other people that Santana's her girlfriend.

Rachel gets butterflies in her stomach just thinking about it now, but Santana’s still laughing at the idea of them ever being a thing, which just about manages to crush Rachel’s very tiny hopes to smithereens.

She feels like crying, but Santana would probably laugh at that too, so Rachel does the next best thing. She walks away. She just leaves Santana over by the bar and sits down next to Kurt, who peeks up from his iPad to give her a concerned look. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” she says prissily, folding her arms over her chest.

Kurt obviously isn’t buying her bullshit by the look on his face. “Heavens, what’d I miss now?”

To be honest, she’s been wanting to tell Kurt about this for forever. He’s been her best friend since junior year, and they used to be able to talk about everything together, but ever since they’ve come to the city, things have been different. They don’t spend as much time together anymore, and because of that, the two of them have kind of grown apart, despite living about only a yard away from each other.

He’s always been her go-to person whenever she had to complain about something Finn did, or gush over how much Finn spoils her on their dates, but this is also different because it’s not about Finn anymore.

Rachel’s a confident girl, sure, but no one can outrun insecurity, and Rachel just doesn’t have it in her at the moment to tell Kurt about how she’s falling for Santana Lopez, of all people. He’d probably be so surprised—and don’t forget mortified—that she’d fall for someone who helped Quinn Fabray torture her for most of high school. Talk about masochism.

Kurt nudges her in the shoulder, and he sounds tired when he says, “Rachel? What happened?”

"Apparently I stuck my foot in my mouth without even realizing it." Santana appears in front of them, and Rachel can clearly see the other girl’s sneakers, but she refuses to lift her head.

She hears a loud sigh, and then Santana plops down next to her and tries to get into her face, because it’s what she always does whenever Rachel’s feeling down, but she's still upset with Santana, so Rachel only pushes her away.

“Rachel, c’mon. What’d I say?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing my ass,” she mumbles, eyes focused on Rachel’s profile. Rachel can feel Santana's gaze on her, but she ignores it in favor of listening to Santana’s words. “Rach, will you at least look at me?” When Rachel fails to comply, Santana sighs and says, “Fine, be a bitch and go back to ignoring me, because that's obviously the only way you know to deal with shit."

Rachel flares her nostrils. "I'm not ignoring you. I just need a moment alone."

"Is this about what I said to that guy? It is, isn't it?" Santana sighs and then leans back into Rachel's personal space. "He was being an ass, and what he thought was funny, wasn't it?" But Rachel's not laughing, and after a moment Santana rolls her eyes up the ceiling in irritation. "If this is about your massive ego, then fine, Rach, I'll be your girlfriend. What the fuck ever."

Clearly eavesdropping, Kurt peeks up from his iPad with an arched eyebrow. "Did I just hear that correctly?"

They both ignore him, and Rachel can't help but scoff. She's imagined hearing those words a million times over, but never in that tone of voice before. "I'm honored," she says dryly, averting her eyes into the opposite direction.

"Look, I don't know what the fuck I did, but since it doesn't look like you'll be telling me anytime soon," Santana trails off, lifting her shoulders into a shrug, "For whatever it is I did wrong, I'm sorry, okay?"

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” _and probably never will_ , Rachel muses sourly.

“I’m apologizing for not knowing what’s wrong, Rachel,” Santana says, sounding incredibly agitated.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she lies, pushing herself up and out of the chair to get away from the waiting area. She gets on line at a juice stand and tries her best not to look back over. Santana might be watching her, and the last thing she wants to do is to make eye contact.

Santana has the kind of eyes that just suck you in. They’re dark and beautifully large whenever she’s concerned, and Rachel really doesn’t need to see that right now, so she waits a few minutes, orders her drink, and then looks over a bit later, because she has resolve, but she’s not a freaking expert at repression.

It turns out Santana's not even watching her. She and Kurt are talking, and Rachel would try to read their lips if she knew how to read lips. Rachel watches, eyes narrowed on them as Santana rolls her eyes at something Kurt tells her, and then mutters something back with a nod of her head and a soft look in Rachel's direction.

As soon as their eyes meet, Rachel looks away and bites down hard on her lower lip. It bleeds.

\--

She gets stuck sitting next to Santana on the plane, which usually wouldn’t be all that bad, but she’s still kind of mad at her roommate after what happened earlier. It’s probably stupid, and she should just get over it, but the realization that Santana will never like her—not in that way, at least—is a very large pill to swallow.

Rachel looks over and Santana’s fast asleep with her head lolled back against the headrest. She’s so beautiful when she sleeps. Well, she’s always beautiful, of course, but there’s just something about her that’s different when her usually hard features are finally relaxed and calm.

After plugging in a pair of earphones, Rachel allows her eyes to close, but it only feels like three minutes tick away before she’s awoken by a hand on her knee. She groggily glances to her right, but Kurt is knocked out, so, very reluctantly, she looks to her left, and Santana’s smiling softly at her with these heavy, dark eyes, and Rachel doesn’t want to fall into them. She really doesn’t, but sometimes things just happen.

Music continues to play through her earphones—the soundtrack of her very own film—as Santana snatches an earphone out of her ear and then places it into her own. “What are you doing?” she mutters sleepily, but Santana only smirks as she nods along to the music, and Rachel wonders why she even wastes time trying to stay mad at Santana.

"You’re becoming more and more predictable, Rach,” Santana teases, but Rachel resents that, actually, because her taste in music has surely expanded since coming to New York.

She’s only listening to her Barbra playlist because it relaxes her, and who doesn’t need a semblance of calm when flying thousands of miles in the sky?

But despite Santana’s eye roll, she keeps the earphone in and sinks back against the chair with a sigh. “You haven’t said one word to me since we boarded the plane. I thought we were over the childish antics and silent treatments," she says, shifting in her seat. "I know I say shit without meaning to, and I’m sorry. Whatever it is I said, I’m sorry. You know I have no filter.”

“You do have a filter. It just short circuits sometimes.”

Santana snuffles through a huffy laugh, dark eyes blinking slowly. “That’s good to know.”

She can see Santana looking at her from out the corner of her eye, but Rachel continues to face forward as she asks, "If you don’t like my music, why are you listening with me?”

"My iPod died.” Santana looks away and messes with the window cover beside her. Rachel recognizes it as a nervous tick of Santana’s. She touches things when she doesn’t know what to do with herself.  “And I don’t hate your music. It’s not my jam or anything, but I don’t _hate_ it. I could never hate anything about you.”

Rachel’s breath hitches, and it hurts her throat, but she holds it in and meets Santana’s eyes. They’re shiny against the glow of the sun shining through the window. Rachel tries to focus on that for as long as possible until her eyes become dry from staring. She blinks, breaking the spell, and Santana smiles at her before facing forward again.

The moment has passed, and it’s time for Rachel to come back to the real world. For the rest of the flight, she can’t sleep, too busy thinking about how cruel cupid has been lately, especially when Santana falls asleep on her shoulder and her arm goes prickly numb. Rachel smiles down at her. She doesn't want to disturb Santana nor move her away from their touch, so she lets the numbness take over.

\--

Rachel's dad picks them up. When she sees him waiting out by the gate, it’s almost like one of those old time movies where everything is in slow motion and she drops her bags and there’s this sappy soundtrack—from _Come What May_ , preferably—as she jumps into her dad’s arms. He twirls her around, just like he used to when she was a little girl and presses a kiss to her cheek. God, she really missed him, and almost didn’t realize it until now.

After their hug, he grabs Kurt by the arm and pulls him in for a tight embrace. Santana’s never met Rachel’s dad before, but he gives her a hug just as tight as the one he gave Kurt, and Rachel loves him for that.

Santana’s awkward around new people, and she usually does weird stuff to break the ice, like make vulgar jokes or point out everything that’s physically wrong with the person, but this time she keeps her mouth shut and smiles over Leroy's shoulder at Rachel as he squeezes her tighter and even lifts her off the ground an inch or two.

They drop off Kurt first because he lives the closest on their way back from the airport. As they pull up in front of the house, Rachel briefly wonders if Finn's inside, but those thoughts eventually vanish when Burt comes out to help Kurt with his bags and then asks them how their flight was. The responses vary from _exceptional_ to _it sucked_.

The ride to Santana's house is oddly quiet. After dropping off Kurt, Rachel had taken Kurt’s spot in the front seat to talk to her dad, but the conversation had eventually trailed off into silence as Leroy turned up the volume on the radio.

Santana catches her eye in the side-view mirror with a tiny smile, but she looks a bit uneasy as her eyes avert to the window beside her.

They pull up to Santana’s house, and Rachel helps Santana bring her bags in. Once they're inside, Rachel gapes, surprised by how empty and huge the house is. Their footsteps echo as they tread down the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Um,” Rachel murmurs, eyes scanning the dark, giant fossil that is Santana’s home. “Where are your parents?”

Santana roams around the kitchen as if it’s not her own. “Well, according to the post-it on the fridge, Dad is at the hospital and Mom's not even in town,” she says dryly, before ripping the post-it off the fridge and crumbling it up in her fist. “Hm, who knew?”

By the look on her face, it's clear Santana didn't. Rachel licks her lips and sets the bags down on the cold, marble floor. She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing, which is usually best in these types of awkward situations.

Instead she watches Santana fling her suitcase up onto the kitchen counter with a huff. She doesn’t say anything as she rifles through it. Rachel waits to see what Santana's looking for, but when nothing is pulled out of the suitcase after a good thirty seconds, Rachel remembers Santana’s tendency to touch when she’s flustered.

“Santana?” She doesn’t get a response the first time; Santana looks to be more preoccupied with touching every item in her bag rather than hearing Rachel. “Santana?” she says again, a little more firmly. “Would you—” She cuts herself off before she can get the words out because it's pretty clear Santana's still not listening.

Stepping forward, Rachel grabs Santana’s hands to still them, but she doesn’t expect Santana to hold on to her so tight and then ravel their fingers together. Rachel almost chokes on her words again, but she just manages to get them out this time.

“Would you like to stay with my fathers and I?” Rachel asks softly.

Letting out a long sigh, Santana sniffles and then nods her head jerkily as a grateful smile spreads across those round cheeks of hers, and Rachel exhales shakily as she brings Santana into a hug. They stay like that for a long time, until the distant sound of a honking car breaks the calming silence between them.

Santana lets out a wet laugh as she pulls away and then wipes at her teary eyes. "Now I know where you get your impatience from."

Rachel swats at Santana's arm and then picks up her suitcase. "Let's get out of here. Your house is giving me the creeps."


	2. they'll love you when they need you

Santana comes over and has dinner with Rachel and her dads, and it’s nothing like she ever imagined it’d be. Santana is actually polite, and suddenly, out of nowhere, the girl has table manners. She doesn’t chew with her mouth open, her very colorful language is suddenly void of all expletives, she keeps her elbows off the table, compliments the food, and even offers to clean up after everyone‘s done eating.

Rachel can tell her daddy is impressed by the surprised smile stretched across his face as he tells Santana that no guests in the Berry home ever lift a finger.

Over dessert, Hiram asks Santana what she’s planning to accomplish in New York, and Rachel honestly doesn’t know what she's expecting to hear. So far, Santana’s only been floating around with no real destination in mind. From what Rachel remembers in high school, fame was Santana’s mistress—which then earned her that notorious sex tape that probably has at least over a thousand views by now—but Rachel has no idea what Santana’s plans are, and now she kind of feels like a bad friend for never wondering or asking Santana herself.

In all honesty, Rachel’s expecting Santana to talk circles around her dad's question until they all eventually forget what the question was in the first place, but to her surprise, Santana smiles weakly and says, “I’m planning on attending NYU this summer for business admin; that way I can catch up on the necessary credits I need in order to graduate on time.” Rachel cuts Santana with a look, arching an eyebrow, but Santana only smiles indulgently as she scoops a spoonful of orange sherbet into her mouth. “My mom knows the Dean of Admissions personally, so…” Her words trail off as she casually shrugs a shoulder.

“Business?” Rachel says skeptically, because that sounds nothing at all like Santana.

Tight-lipped, Santana nods. “My GPA and SAT scores were fairly impressive, so I think I can compete without my mother’s help, but I guess good word can never hurt.”

Rachel’s been living with Santana for six months, so she knows crap from her roommate when she hears it. “But _business_?” she blurts, raising her eyebrows, but Santana just gives her a look as if she doesn’t understand what the problem is. “Since when have you _ever_ been interested in business?”

Rachel’s fathers share a nervous look, and then Hiram speaks up, saying, “Business is a very commendable choice of a major, Santana. I’m sure you’ll make your parents very proud.”

Santana opens her mouth to reply, but Rachel cuts her off with a loud scoff. “Bullshit. Santana, why are you—"

“Rachel,” her dad warns, and he's using that tone which basically means _calm down,_ but how can she possibly be calm when Santana is blatantly lying to her? They hardly ever lie to each other, and it hurts to know Santana's keeping something from her—despite how incredibly hypocritical that may seem—but her fathers are looking at her sternly, and Santana's eyes are glued to the table, so Rachel takes a deep breath and then remembers the breathing exercises her therapist taught her.

The conversation awkwardly shifts into talk about the Academy Award nominations, and Santana's eyes go wide as she dives into a winded rant about why Jared Leto absolutely _must_ win the award for Supporting Actor in the movie _Dallas Buyer’s Club_.

Santana’s excitement seems to lighten the mood, at least, but Rachel's already lost her appetite.

\--

They’ve slept in the same bed multiple times before, so it’s not a big deal. Rachel doesn’t even notice she’s speaking her thoughts out loud until Santana tugs on her hand and says, “What’s not a big deal?”

Rachel glances up to find Santana looking down, painting Rachel's nails as they sit on top of her bed, because she forgot to do them before leaving the city. “Nothing.”

“That seems to be the default answer to everything I ask you these days. _Nothing_ ,” Santana mimics breezily, peeking up from under her eyelashes with an impish grin.

Rachel only hums. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she says, because it's been on her mind ever since she finished washing the dishes after dessert. She didn’t mean to make everything so tense and awkward, but she hates it when Santana lies to her—which, yes, she knows is absurdly bigoted considering her last response.

“Earlier?” Santana repeats, distracted.

“You know,” Rachel says, averting her eyes to the far wall. “Earlier. When I called bullshit on you and your probable major in front of my fathers in such a discourteous, ill-behaved manner.”

“Oh, _that_.” Santana glances up at her with a smile, so Rachel knows she’s not particularly mad or anything, but the whole thing still rubs her the wrong way. They’re best friends, and best friends are supposed to be able to talk to each other about these kinds of things, right?

(She’s never exactly had a _super_ deep conversation with Santana before—not like the conversations she used to share with Kurt back when they were once closer—so this could possibly turn into quite the awkward affair, but she has to at least try, right?)

“Santana, please be honest with me," Rachel says, and Santana glances up at her again, but this time there is no smile. Her nose is crinkled curiously, and Rachel fights to push away the thought of how cute Santana looks whenever she makes that face. “You’re only doing this to please your parents, aren’t you?”

Santana rolls her eyes with a sigh, and yeah, that’s the reason. The Lopezes are very successful people. They live in the nicest part of town. Mr. Lopez is a plastic surgeon, which has become an increasingly popular profession in the Midwest over the last few years.

(Apparently all of the Stepford wives want to look like Reese Witherspoon and Mila Kunis, so plastics is the only option. It’s not like they have anything better to do anyway, and their husbands give them whatever they want, so why not, right?)

But despite Mr. Lopez’s power in the community, it’s Mrs. Lopez you really have to watch out for. She’s a sneaky little thing when it comes to controlling Santana’s life, and why wouldn’t she be? The woman controls her own business, why not her daughter as well? 

It’s a very sticky situation.

Rachel should’ve plugged her iPod into her speakers when they first came up here, because now it’s awfully quiet as Santana mulls this over. Rachel’s not even sure if Santana’s going to offer her a real response, but then a frown appears on Santana’s lips as she exhales shakily.

“My mom, mostly,” she mutters, twisting her lips into a grimace. “But my dad wants whatever I want.” And Santana sounds a bit more hopeful about that, which is nice and all, but Rachel can only see Santana’s side in all of this, and she wants to help. All she’s ever wanted was to help Santana.

“They disowned you,” Rachel reminds her.

Santana shrugs and then curses under her breath when she smears some of the nail polish across Rachel’s cuticle. “But if I do what they want, they’ll take me back,” she reasons, reaching behind her for the nail polish remover.

Rachel watches her with sad eyes and tries to stay as still as possible. “You don’t need their money, Santana." 

“But if I want a future, I kinda do, Rach.”

All these ifs and no whens. It’s frustrating to listen to. As Santana continues to paint Rachel's nails, she does this thing where she strokes her fingers over the back of Rachel's hand. It's oddly sensual. Rachel shivers and blames it on the draft in the room.

“Hypothetically, if you could go to college and study whatever you wanted,” Rachel bites into her upper lip, hard, as Santana blows on her wet nails, “what would that be?”

“I’d…” Santana glances sideways in thought before picking up Rachel’s other hand from off her thigh. Rachel didn’t even know her hand was resting there, but now her fingers feel all tingly. “Okay, this is probably gonna sound stupid, but I’d maybe major in EMF.” Rachel doesn’t know what that is, but she nods along anyway with an encouraging smile, though Santana must notice the confusion in her eyes and explains, “Which stands for Electronic Media and Film. I think...I think I may be interested in screenwriting.”

Rachel knits her eyebrows together. Well, that's new. She really needs to pay more attention to people who aren't herself. “Really?” she wonders.

“Yeah. I mean, I really like television and writing, and I’ve always paid super close attention to dialogue.” Santana shrugs as she paints another coat of pink nail polish over Rachel’s index fingernail. “I...I want to create worlds no one has ever seen before, and like—I don’t know," she mutters with a dry laugh. "I told you it was stupid.”

“ _No_. No, it’s not stupid. Actually, now that I think about it, it does make a lot of sense, especially with the way you’re always wondering about the behind the scenes of _Breaking Bad_ ,” Rachel says, and she doesn’t mean it teasingly, but Santana smiles and rolls her eyes anyway with a bashful shrug of her shoulders. They both laugh softly, and then Rachel says, “It makes sense, Santana, and it’s not stupid. Your dreams are perfect.”

“Yeah,” Santana says, breathing out a sigh, but she still doesn’t look too convinced.

\--

“Rach?” she hears in the middle of the night, or early morning. Whichever.

“Hm?”

It’s dark and a little cold, so Rachel turns around to face Santana and then snuggles even deeper under her comforter. Santana lies a few inches away on a separate pillow. Rachel can just barely see as her eyes adapt to the darkness, but she knows Santana’s right there, so her imagination takes over for her eyes. She imagines Santana’s smile, and suddenly she’s no longer cold anymore.

She feels the bed rock as Santana scoots closer. A cold bare foot knocks against Rachel’s leg, and she flutters her eyes shut for a moment.

“I would’ve missed you if I stayed at my place,” Santana whispers into the darkness, and Rachel feels Santana’s husky breath against her cheek, or maybe she’s only still imagining.

“I would’ve missed you too,” she says, and Santana sighs. It sounds like a breath of relief, but Rachel tries not to read too much into it. She’s learned from the past not to jump to conclusions, so she reels in her dreamy thoughts and places them elsewhere, like in the metaphorical garbage can. "What did Kurt say to you earlier, at the airport?" she asks after a long pause, and it seems somebody must’ve left the metaphorical garbage lid wide open.

Santana shifts and then folds an arm underneath her head. "He said that you're very sensitive to the fact you don't have any siblings,” she says carefully, and then makes a small noise as she shifts again. “Rach, why weren't you just honest with me? You know I get that…well, kind of."

It figures her roommates still have no clue whatsoever. How Santana can think Rachel’s annoyance over being called her little sister has to do with the fact she's an only child is truly maddening on Rachel’s part. Really? That’s the brilliant conclusion they drew from her bitch fit?

(Sure, she wrote a stupid song called _Only Child_ junior year, but being an only child wasn’t that horrible where she’d completely ignore Santana for a good half hour over. But then again, it’s an excuse for her irrational behavior, and if it makes sense to Santana...well, that’ll just have to do for now if she doesn’t want Santana to find out what’s _really_ going on.)

“Wait...” Rachel pauses, remembering what Santana said last. "Why _kind of_ ,” she wonders, because unless Santana has a pet, she's basically an only child too.

"It's...a long story."

"I have time."

Santana groans through a breathy laugh. "It's two o'clock in the morning, Rach,” she whines, and Rachel smiles gently, choosing not to point out that it was Santana who woke her up in the first place. “We need to get up early tomorrow. Maybe another time."

"Fine. Another time," Rachel agrees through a yawn, and Santana snuggles into her some time later, saying she's cold as an excuse, and that's how they fall asleep together.

\--

The sun rises and Rachel’s alarm clock fails to ring on time, but luckily she’s trained herself over the years to wake up at whatever time she’s expecting.

She opens her eyes slowly, and then startles when she sees an arm that’s not her own draped over her stomach before remembering who spent the night. After rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Rachel rolls over and tries to wake Santana up with a shove in order to resist the urge to watch her sleep.

Santana wakes with a start and then grumbles under her breath when her heavy eyes land on Rachel. She smiles groggily and then stuffs her face back into a pillow, wrapping an arm around Rachel's waist to pull her back down.

"Sleep with me for five more minutes, please," she insists through a whine, and Rachel hopes the flush in her cheeks isn’t visible as she unwraps Santana's fingers from around her arm and then crawls out of bed in order to claim the bathroom first—which turns out to not even make a difference when Santana sneaks in to pee when Rachel’s in the shower.

Santana flushes the toilet, and Rachel knows there’s really something wrong with her when she smiles as the shower water turns cold.

\--

Kurt comes to pick them up at around quarter to nine, but Santana's moving super slow, so they don’t end up leaving until nine-thirty. Santana calls shotgun, and when they finally bunker in, Kurt’s expression turns oddly suspicious. “What are you doing here?” he asks Santana with a smirk. 

Rachel's eyes cut to Santana, who's shuffling through the CDs in Kurt's glove compartment, and then grins crookedly. “She spent the night,” Rachel explains, shrugging a shoulder.

“Oh, did she?” Kurt says under his breath, shooting Rachel a look through the rearview mirror. He's been giving her that same look for the better part of a month now, and Rachel doesn't know what he's trying to tell her. They used to have this psychic connection, but ever since Santana's moved into the loft, their one-on-one feed has been severely glitching. “The dependency continues, I see. Can't spend one minute away from each other, huh?"

Laughing, Santana joins in on the joke. "Rachel's my soulmate. I'm pretty sure I imprinted on her in my sleep," she says, distractedly flicking through the stations on the radio. 

Rachel smiles weakly, wishing Santana would stop saying stuff like that, but then a separate part of her, a needy and stubborn part of her, lives off of the candid and unfiltered things that randomly come out of Santana's mouth.

\--

The parking lot is packed, so Kurt has to find a space somewhere in the back after ignoring Santana’s idea to take a handicap spot.

When they get inside, Kurt runs off to find Mercedes as Rachel and Santana take a seat together in the middle of a pew. Rachel reaches into her purse for a mint, and then nudges Santana in the arm to see if she wants one, but the girl doesn’t respond. Glancing up, Rachel looks at Santana in confusion and then follows her gaze when she notices her staring off dazedly. 

"Have you talked to Finn yet?" Santana asks, dark eyes focused on Brittany and Sam, who’re sitting only a few rows ahead of them.

Rachel knows Finn is the best man, so she’s going to have to see him sooner or later when he stands up beside Mr. Schuester, but, "No. I haven’t. Have you spoken to Brittany?"

Santana’s posture remains stiff. “Nope,” she breathes out, and her back deflates a little bit, but nothing too noticeable. Crossing her legs, Santana bends her head sideways to try and see over some old man’s bald head. “What do you think's up with her and Sam? They look a little, I don't know...cozy over there."

Rachel looks at them too, but she tries not to read too deeply into it. She’s dealt with the fact Santana will probably never get over Brittany Pierce entirely, so that’s not what bothers her. What’s making her stomach turn is the obvious sadness in Santana’s eyes as she gazes longingly at her ex-girlfriend, pretending not to hurt as much as she really is.

"I'm sure it's only because of the temperature," Rachel suggests teasingly, hoping to put a smile back on Santana’s face. If Santana blushes, it’s only because she’s embarrassed. Nothing more.

Santana shakes her head with a wry smile. "Sam's such an idiot. Look at him. He's probably doing one of those stupid impressions right now." Her smile morphs back into a mean grimace.

Rachel hates seeing that look. “Oh, I don’t know. I used to like Sam’s impressions.” 

“They were stupid.”

“Yeah,” Rachel agrees, because they were kind of stupid, “but they made me laugh, which I suppose is the overall goal of impressions, right?”

Huffing, Santana faces Rachel with squinted eyes and a frown. “Who the fuck's side are you on, Berry?” 

“Santana, language,” Rachel admonishes in a whisper, tapping her lightly on the thigh. “This is a sanctuary of the Lord.”

She's basically accepted that Santana will never be able to filter her language—and Rachel wouldn't want to change that about her roommate anyway, because that's part of what makes her who she is—but the people in front of them are starting to turn around and give them strange looks, and Rachel would rather not make a scene today.

“Speaking of saints," Santana drawls, lips pursed into a pleased smirk, and Rachel looks on, puzzled, because she doesn't recall any part of their conversation revolving around saints, but then Santana's brown eyes gleam enticingly as they focus upwards. "If it isn’t Lucy Q." 

Rachel bristles at the name, but she’s not entirely sure why. She and Quinn left Lima on fairly good terms, if you ignore that whole trainwreck wedding fiasco. Guilt still paws at her chest from what happened to Quinn. Rachel knows Quinn forgave her and didn’t blame Rachel for putting her in the chair, but she could never brush off the feeling that maybe Quinn never would have had to suffer through all those months in the hospital and then in physical therapy if she never accepted Finn’s proposal.

With a subdued smile, Quinn greets them both, and then carefully sits down next to Santana. "This wedding sucks,” is the first thing out of her mouth as she looks around the chapel with a roll of her eyes.

If Santana’s surprised by the random outburst, she doesn’t let it show, probably used to this side of Quinn by now, but Rachel’s eyes widen comically as she glances over her shoulder to see if anyone else heard her.

But Quinn doesn’t stop there. Apparently she's been balling up a lot of angry energy lately. “Valentine’s Day sucks. Love sucks,” she continues in a monotone. “ _Men_ suck."

"Brooding Quinn, you're back,” Santana purrs, grinning slyly. She looks way too amused at the despondency in Quinn's tone, but Rachel figures that's just how their relationship works. Even in high school, regardless of their implied friendship, the two of them were always horrible to each other; from stealing each other's boyfriends, to outing each other's secrets, to even taking each other's spots on the Cheerios.

The cycle never ended, and Rachel doesn't remember them ever apologizing for any of the cruel things they've done to each other in the past. But she supposes that's just how their friendship works. While words mean everything to Rachel, words are just words to Quinn and Santana. It's always been clear that they'd much rather communicate through piercing glares and perfectly arched eyebrows and twitching upper lips.

Rachel used to watch their interactions enviously, wishing she could somehow understand the popular girls and become a part of their culture, but now all of that seems way too exhausting when one could simply express how they feel with words or lyrics rather than a banal facial expression.

Quinn smirks, and then folds her arms over her chest. "And here to stay," she concludes with a flip of her hair, and Rachel doesn’t even feel a part of the conversation anymore—or maybe she never really was to begin with—as Santana rolls her eyes at Quinn.

"Who broke your heart this time?" she asks, and it's quite clear she doesn't really care, which makes Rachel wonder why Santana even bothers to ask if she's not going to listen to the response.

There’s a lengthy pause before Quinn answers the question. Her hazel eyes cut to Rachel briefly, but it's obvious Quinn doesn't really care what Rachel thinks by the subtle roll of her eyes when she spots Rachel looking on curiously.

Quinn looks almost ashamed of herself as she says, "Would you believe me if I told you I hooked up with another meathead football player?"

"Of course I wouldn't believe you,” Santana deadpans, upper lip quirked up in disappointment, “because there's no way you'd do something so fucking stupid." 

Rachel almost cuts in to tell Santana to stop cursing, because she’s definitely drawing negative attention now. The old man in front of them turns around to glare, but no one but Rachel seems to notice. Quinn, seemingly insulted, raises her eyebrows incredulously as Santana coolly leans back in her seat.

They have one of those a stare-offs they used to have at least once a day at McKinley, and the tension surrounding them feels all too familiar. Rachel clears her throat, hoping to break whatever it is happening, but Quinn just sneers and goes off on Santana, saying something about how she should be the last one talking about stupidity with her track record.

Extremely uncomfortable with the direction in which this conversation has taken, Rachel hastily excuses herself. Thankfully, she spots Kurt and Mercedes catching up in the back of the chapel. She greets Mercedes with a warm hug, and tries to pay close attention to her stories of California, because the last thing she wants to do is think about Santana right now.

Soon enough, their conversation stems off into gossip—which isn’t too surprising considering the two people she’s talking to—about the new kids and Sue's baby daddy and how Sam and Brittany are dating.

"What?" Rachel chokes out, and Kurt looks just as shocked as Rachel feels, so apparently he didn't know either.

Mercedes, somehow unaffected by this news, nods and confirms, “Apparently it happened right after Christmas. Misery loves company, you know?”

Swallowing thickly, Rachel looks over to Santana, who's still chatting with Quinn, and then she looks over to Sam and Brittany, who’re sitting even closer to each other than before. 

 _Crap_.

\--

This is the second wedding Rachel’s been to where no one got married. It’s a bit of a depressing thought that has unwanted memories pouring back into her mind, so she tries to think of something else. Her eyes somehow find Santana all the way across the reception hall.

After Miss Pillsbury skipped out, and Sue came down the aisle in a similarly-styled wedding dress, and Mr. Schuester ran out as if his pants were on fire, Miss Pillsbury’s parents had made an announcement to the entire chapel that the reception was still on since they wasted a lot of money on the food and venue.

But Rachel kind of wanted to go home after that. She felt bad for Mr. Schuester, and she still might be trying to avoid Finn. It's completely childish, sure, but she doesn't really want to hear what Finn has to say. She's listened to his millions of voicemails and they all say the same thing. She gets it. He's not over her. He's sorry for how they ended it. He wishes he could do it all differently. But that doesn't change the fact it's been done, or the fact that Rachel's _glad_ it's done. 

She's really only still here now because Kurt's gone MIA with the keys—and because Santana wanted to come, and Quinn, too, and Rachel hates being left out—so here she is, sitting at a table with Artie, his handicap date, and some kid named Ryder who reminds Rachel just a little too much of Finn. 

She props her elbow on the table and listens as Artie attempts and fails to woo his date, who seems to be kind of—well, for lack of better words—bitchy. And Ryder? His puppy dog eyes are focused out on the dance floor. It looks like unrequited love, and Rachel hopes she doesn’t mirror his downtrodden expression too much as she gazes across the reception hall at Santana and Quinn, who’re taking shots over by the bar.

They’re just laughing and smiling at each other, and it probably doesn’t mean what Rachel thinks it means, but she knows most of Santana’s looks by now, and that fiery gaze in those dark eyes have never once been focused in Rachel’s direction.

Her heart drops at the sight, and then she absently wonders why she’s even sitting here. Kurt ran off somewhere with Blaine—which will probably come back to bite him in the ass, considering Henry was kind of disappointed when Kurt refused to invite him down to Lima yet again—and Santana's busy _catching up_ with Quinn, so Rachel scans the entire hall until her eyes land on Tina and Mercedes, who’re sitting a few tables away from her.

Rachel pushes out of her chair and approaches them with a smile, but when Finn lumbers up out of nowhere and intercepts her, Rachel then remembers why she was sitting over in that dark, secluded corner.

“Rachel,” Finn says, all breathlessly, as if he had been running to catch up to her.

It’s weird hearing his voice again after so many months, especially here in person. Rachel grins tightly as she turns around and then glances up at him. “Hello, Finn,” she greets warmly. She forgot how much it bothered her neck to always have to gaze up at him.

“Um. Hey,” he says, swaying back and forth from foot to foot, shockingly offbeat to the music. He’s nervous, Rachel knows, but that’s still no excuse for lack of rhythm. "It's good to see you, Rach. You look good."

Rachel forces a weak smile. "As do you, Finn," and he does look quite handsome in his black tuxedo and pink bow tie. He looks adorable, actually, smiling down at her with that sideways smirk of his, but when put up to Santana's cheeky grin, there's just no comparison.

"You have no idea how much I missed you." Rachel bows her head at the words and then waits for them to wash over her; she waits for his words to make her heart putter and her stomach to twist, but...nothing happens. She glances back up at him—a little surprised at her lack of reaction—to find Finn scratching at his sideburns anxiously. When Rachel fails to respond, unsure of what to say, Finn moves his mouth wordlessly and then jerks his head at a door that leads to the hotel lobby. "C-can we talk, Rachel?”

Rachel grimaces slightly, her eyes trailing over him with an air of sympathy. His shoulders are sagged, even in his black, crisp suit. She doesn't want to let him down, because this is the boy she claimed to love once upon a time. He was her first, and that will always mean something to her, but she's over him, and that's not going to change any time soon. 

“Maybe another time, Finn,” Rachel tells him gently. “Right now wouldn’t be appropriate.” She attempts an escape, but Finn just slides over and blocks her path. “ _Finn_.”

“Another time?” Finn exasperates, lifting his hands into the air, obviously struggling to find the right words. “We live hundreds of miles away from each other, and you never pick up your phone when I call, so _when_ , Rachel? When’ll there be another time?”

There's music playing, and although it's pretty loud, Finn's voice has always had a way of traveling over it. “Finn, please lower your voice,” Rachel whispers, darting her eyes sideways to find Ryder staring right at them. That kid is so strange. Sighing, she reaches out to tug on his arm. “Fine, we can talk, but in private, okay?”

Finn rips his arm away and stands his ground. “I didn’t breakup with you, you know,” he says, shaking his head. “You misheard me.” 

Rachel scoffs. “I misheard you say, ' _This isn’t working anymore. I think we should break up_ ’?”

Finn curls his hands into fists and narrows his eyes down on her. Rachel can sense a temper tantrum coming on, but thankfully Finn takes a deep breath to reel it all in. “I was upset, Rachel. You know how I say things I don’t mean when I’m frustrated, and you didn’t even give me a chance to take it back. You just started yelling at me, and then hung up," he mutters, reaching out a hand to grab hers, but Rachel moves away. Finn's strong, and when he's upset he has a bad habit of grabbing and forgetting to let go. Hanging his head, Finn frowns and then tucks his hands into his pockets. "Since then, you haven’t answered any of my texts or phone calls, and I—I...don’t think that's very fair of you.”

“Fair? You want to talk about what’s not _fair_ , Finn?" Rachel stands stiffly and folds her arms over her chest. "You refusing to let me go. That’s unfair. You continuing to call me, even after Kurt told you to stop. That’s unfair, Finn. If you didn’t break up with me, that's okay, fine. Then I’ll just break up with you.” 

“Rachel, don't do this. You need to hear me out."

"I don't need to do anything you ask of me."

Finn stares at her, bewildered, because Rachel's never spoken to him like this before. It used to be _yes, Finn_ this, and _yes, Finn_ that, but ever since moving to New York and living with Santana Lopez, Rachel has grown a backbone, and now that she finally knows what she wants out of life, it's definitely not Finn Hudson.

"But I still love—”

"Finn," Rachel starts, and because she has nothing else to say on the matter, she tells him, "I've moved on." And she really has. She's now focusing on her dreams and ambitions. Finn was a tall shadow, hovering over her and blocking her light for two years, on and off, but since he's been out of the picture, Rachel's been able to think more clearly, breathe freer, and actually concentrate on herself for once.

But Finn, who's always been kind of two-dimensional, takes her declaration of independence the wrong way. His nostrils flare angrily, lips trembling. "You've moved on? With somebody else?" Finn mumbles, his cheeks turning red. "Who is he?"

"That—" Rachel stalls, because there actually isn't anybody else. Not technically. If it were sophomore year, and Rachel was still that girl who was delusional about relationships, she'd tell anyone who'd listen about how much she's crushing on Santana Lopez, but that Rachel is gone. She's become more subdued and shy over the last few years, so instead of declaring her love, she remains subtle. "Really, Finn, I don't see how this is any of your business."

Finn nods, eyebrows furrowed. His eyes are glued to the floor as he murmurs, "Does he make you happy?"

She can tell how much she's hurting him, but if it will make Finn realize that what they had is over, then so be it. Rachel lets herself think about Santana, and an unattainable smile works its way on to her lips. "Very," she says fondly, purposely neglecting to add that the he is a _she_.

"I still love you, you know," he says in a last resort effort to win back her affection, but it's a weird realization for Rachel to discover she doesn't feel the same way anymore. 

"I know." Nodding, Rachel brushes her bangs out of her face and then breathes out a sigh. “Goodbye, Finn." She wishes him well before walking away, but he still looks unconvinced and ready to fight for her. 

All Rachel can do is hope he takes her advice and just moves on. It may not be the easiest thing, but right now it's for the best.

\--

She finds Santana standing alone by the bar, sipping from a fruity cocktail. Head bowed, Rachel approaches cautiously, hoping Quinn won’t pop up out of nowhere and then reclaim Santana for herself again. Rachel hasn’t been able to spend one minute with her since they got here. It’s probably foolish, but she kind of misses Santana when they’re not together. Maybe Kurt was right about the dependency thing.

“Where’s Quinn?” Rachel asks, leaning up against the bar beside Santana.

“Bathroom,” Santana says, but she looks distracted. After a moment, her eyes cut to Rachel, squinted and curious. “Do you need me to beat up Finnocence for you?” Rachel looks over at Santana to find her glaring daggers at the back of Finn's head as he talks to Sam over by the stage. Or she could be glaring at Sam. Or both.

A weird smile quirks at the corner of Rachel’s lips. “That’d be quite unnecessary, Santana, but thank you anyway.” 

Santana nudges her in the side with a weird smile of her own. “No problem,” she says, takes a sip of her drink, and then asks, “What happened anyway?”

“We broke up. Again.” Rachel can’t help but smile sardonically when Santana makes a face. “Yeah, don’t ask.”

And she doesn’t. Santana keeps her mouth shut for once as she turns back around to ask the bartender for a refill. Rachel’s itching for a cocktail herself, but she pushes away the feeling. It’s never a good idea to drink when feeling like crap, so she listens to her conscience for once and orders cranberry juice instead.

“So, I have to tell you something," Rachel says. It's now or never.

Santana’s eyes dart towards the bathrooms when some unknown blonde enters the reception hall. “Shoot,” she says, and Rachel tries to ignore the disappointment in Santana’s eyes when the blonde turns out to be neither Quinn nor Brittany. 

“I—” Rachel brushes her bangs out of her eyes. “Okay, well...”

“Rach, just spit it out.”

“Brittany and Sam are dating,” Rachel blurts, and then winces as she quietly waits for Santana’s reaction.

Santana puts her glass down, eyes glued to the counter. She doesn't say anything for a long moment, and Rachel fears the worst. “Yeah, I know,” she eventually says, and then glances up with glisteningly dark eyes. "Quinn told me." 

Rachel nods and then tilts her head sideways. “Are you okay?”

"If I were upset about this—which, for the record, I'm _not_ ,” Santana says, rolling her eyes at how angry she sounds, despite her recent claim. She clears her throat and then bites down on her bottom lip. Rachel considers reaching out for her as a form of comfort, but Santana doesn't really look like she wants to be touched right now by the rigid way she's standing. “If I were upset, it'd only be because Brittany can do way better than the glee club bicycle. Sam's dated every girl in glee club except for you and Tina. It's disgusting."

Rachel arches an eyebrow and says, “Wow. I’ve never realized that bef—” 

_“Rachel?”_

Her name vibrates from out of the speakers surrounding them, and Rachel looks around to find the entire dance floor staring at her. She trails her eyes over everyone before looking up at the stage, at Finn, who’s holding a hand out to her with a hopeful smile.

Behind her, Santana sneers. "That two-faced, conniving bastard."

Rachel couldn’t have said it better herself. She wants to ignore him, but everyone’s still staring at her with smiles just as hopeful as Finn's. She can't believe he'd put her on the spot like this, but Santana doesn't look too surprised as she rests a hand on Rachel's forearm.

They share a look, and Santana's obviously pissed off about a lot of things right now—the constant twitching of her lip is a dead giveaway—but Rachel can't tell what she's more upset about; the fact Finn wants to sing with her, or the fact Brittany hasn't yet asked Santana to dance.

Rachel knows it's definitely not the former, so she carefully removes Santana's hand from her forearm with a small smile and then swallows hard as she reluctantly makes her way through a throng of people and up to the stage. Finn takes her hand immediately. It feels huge and sweaty in her palm, and she wonders how this ever felt like forever.

It’s pretty clear Finn chose the song as soon as the beginning notes ring out. Rachel resists the urge to roll her eyes and instead sings her little heart out, mostly thinking about Santana instead of the boy she used to love. Finn sings right at her for most of the song, so Rachel turns away and can't help but frown when she finds Santana and Quinn swaying together on the dance floor.

It feels like September all over again, when it was Santana and Angela dancing together while Rachel was on stage singing with Daniel. It's like deja vu, except this time the song is slower, and Rachel's staring cautiously down at the dance floor as Santana rests her hands low on Quinn’ back, and Quinn places her chin on Santana’s shoulder, whispering something into Santana’s ear that makes her lean back with a crooked smile.

Rachel's learned Santana’s quirks. She knows her insecurities, vulnerabilities, and fears. They really are best friends now, and Rachel's not really sure if that's been working in her favor to get Santana's attention—or at least the attention she really wants from her roommate.

Rachel’s known Santana long enough by now to be able to tell when she's flirting—or even when she's into someone—and Santana's into _her_. She’s into Quinn Fabray, of all people, and Rachel's heart quivers in disbelief as she watches them smile and talk with their cheeks pressed together intimately.

Santana could be doing this for a myriad of reasons, but Rachel knows the main one is Brittany S Pierce. She and Sam are slow dancing only a few feet away from Quinn and Santana, and Rachel would have to be stupid to think their recent proximity is about anything else. Whether Santana's trying to make Brittany jealous, or just simply forget about her ex-girlfriend for the night, Rachel doesn't know. All Rachel wants to know is why Santana never considers _her_ good enough to make someone jealous with, or why Santana never tries to forget about the past with _her_. 

For only a swift moment, Rachel looks away from Quinn and Santana to sing the chorus, lost in the song and how performing makes her feel, but when she gazes back over the dance floor, her heart feels like an anvil as it drops into her stomach when she realizes Santana and Quinn are gone.

No. _No, no, no_. It takes everything in Rachel not to drop the microphone and scamper down the stage steps after them. That would more than likely cause a scene, and it surely wouldn’t be professional, so she reels in her panicking and darts her eyes around the entire dance floor in a vain attempt to locate them, but they’ve basically disappeared from sight.

Tears gather in her eyes, but she tells herself once again not to jump to conclusions as she belts out the last few notes of the song. Finn tries to grab her hand again, but Rachel pushes him away, unapologetic, even after seeing the hurt look on his face at her resistance. She used to have all the time in the world for Finn Hudson, but he’s no longer the center of her universe anymore. Of course she’ll always care about him, but compared to Santana he's not top priority anymore.

Rachel quickly makes her way down the stage steps and then finds Mercedes and Tina sitting at a table in the back. They’ve always been know-it-alls, even worse than she, so Rachel knows she’ll get at least some of the truth from them.

“Do you have any idea as to where Santana disappeared?”

Mercedes and Tina glance up at her, clearly startled by her panicked interruption. Then they look at each other and burst out laughing. Rachel stares at them blankly as she waits for them to stop giggling like children, because she really doesn't have time for this.

"Probably about to get all up on our repressed Christ Crusader," Mercedes informs her with a chuckle, leaning back in her chair with a shake of her head.

Giggling into her hand, Tina shrugs her shoulders as she stirs her drink. "It was only a matter of time," she says, looking over at Mercedes with a raised brow. "I mean, I didn't think Quinn swung that way, but _seriously_ , who would be able to resist Santana looking at them like that?"

Rachel bites down on her lip, but it still stings from where she ripped it in half just yesterday. "You don't think they're really going to...you know," she whispers with a grimace, "do you?"

Pausing, Mercedes and Tina share a look and then start cracking up again, and Rachel has to clench her jaw shut in order to push the tears away. Her bottom lip trembles as she shoots up from the table to find Kurt.

He’ll know what to do. He’ll reassure her that Santana would never sleep with Quinn Fabray, because she’s _Quinn Fabray_. Not only is she a bitch, but she’s bone straight and repressed and not in the least someone who would have a one night stand with one of her closest friends. That’s a line you just don't cross, and Quinn might be a little bit insane, but she would never...

Would she?

Looking around, Rachel wipes away a tear as she looks for Kurt. Her eyes skate over the people partying on the dance floor and socializing by the bar and dinner tables, but he's not there either. Finally, Rachel sees a familiar face, and hurries over to the bar where Sam is standing.

“Sam, have you seen Kurt?”

Sam turns and then smiles widely. “Hey, Rachel. That duet you sang with Finn was awesome.”

“Thank you, Sam. Do you know where Kurt is?”

Knitting his eyebrows together, he looks up to the ceiling in thought. “Um, I think I might’ve seen him head off with Blaine somewhere. Hey, doesn’t Kurt have a boyfriend or something?”

“Mhmm,” Rachel says, nibbling on her bottom lip. “Thanks for your help, Sam.”

“Sure.” He runs a hair through his messy, long hair but stops midway with a look of concern. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just…” Rachel trails off and looks around, because suddenly it feels like this place is closing in on her, and she can’t breathe. “I just really want to go home, but I don’t have a ride, and the people I came with bailed on me, so now I’m stuck here alone, and Finn keeps bothering me, and I just want to go home.”

“Whoa, whoa. It’s okay. Don’t cry now,” Sam says, quickly wrapping his arms around her and then swaying her back and forth. Rachel didn’t even realize she was crying. Her tears leak onto his shirt, and she trembles pathetically in his embrace. Sam looks around the room nervously until his eyes narrow in on something to his right. “Hey, Mike! Mike’s going home, ain’t that right, Mike? He can give you a ride.”

Mike stops dead in his tracks, stone cold with this deer in headlights look on his face. He and Sam seem to have some kind of silent, three second conversation, and then Sam carefully places Rachel into Mike’s arms.

“Really?” she asks him hopefully, tears still in her eyes as Mike gives Sam a very long and hard look.

“Uh, yeah. Of course, Rachel ,” he says kindly, wrapping an arm around her waist as he mouths something to Sam before walking her towards the exit. “C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

(Rachel never realized it before, or maybe she just never bothered to think about it, but she and Mike have never once had a conversation one-on-one before. It’d be awkward if it wasn’t already so awkward.)

It’s quite obvious he wasn’t on his way home, but Rachel feigns oblivion. After all, she needs a ride home, and something tells her that neither Santana nor Kurt will be leaving that hotel tonight. They get into the car and Mike starts driving. The radio is on, but the volume is turned down low.

“Is it hard?” Rachel asks, breaking the tense silence. Mike glances over at her with a puzzled expression before refocusing his eyes on the road. “Seeing Tina after everything that happened between the two of you?”

“Oh,” he murmurs, nodding to show he heard her. “Yeah, sure, but it gets easier with time.”

Rachel leans back against the headrest. “Do you think I’m a terrible person for not loving Finn anymore?" 

“No,” Mike says, without any hesitation. “Not at all. Sometimes, after moving on with somebody else, it’s just that much easier to let go.”

Let go. Move on. If only she could move on from Santana. Finn isn’t even an issue anymore.

Mike drops her off, and Rachel cries again when she gets inside. Her daddy comforts her and doesn't even ask what's wrong, because he thinks she’s crying over Finn, but Rachel’s never cried over Finn this hard before. 

Then again, she's never been this heartbroken before either.

\--

Santana has a knack for 2am conversations. She very rarely ever sleeps throughout the entire night, and whenever she wakes up, she can’t go back to sleep until she's gotten something off her chest.

It happens at least every other week in New York. Santana will wake her up in the middle of the night, get into bed with her, and talk about anything and everything until she drifts back off to sleep. Rachel doesn’t mind it. Everyone has their quirks, and Santana’s are the most adorable, so she puts up with them.

She loves them.

It’s usually around two in the morning, but Santana’s early tonight. Rachel’s awoken by a vibration under her pillow. She shoots up, unsure of what it is at first, but then she remembers she fell asleep listening to her Barbra playlist. Reaching underneath her pillow, Rachel turns her phone on and squints blearily at the brightness of her screen.

 _come_ , the message reads.

Sitting up, Rachel curls a strand of hair behind her hair. She stares at the message for a long moment in confusion, wondering why Santana's texting her at this late hour or what the text even implies, but before Rachel can respond, her phone vibrates again as another message pops up.

_come over my hous i needd you_

Rachel looks at the text for a good fifteen seconds, but the words remain the same. Santana needs her, and she’s obviously in a highly inebriated state considering the misspelling in her message. Rachel's still upset over what happened earlier—Santana ditching her, Santana going off with Quinn, Santana making somebody else a priority once again—but she can't resist Santana of anything.

Santana needs her.

Pulling her covers away, Rachel gets out of bed and then shuffles down the hallway to wake her daddy, telling him she's going over to Santana's house. He nods groggily and instructs her to take the car in the garage.

Rachel throws a coat over her pajamas, grabs the keys, and then gets into her car. She stops for a moment with her hands on the wheel and takes a deep breath before turning on the ignition and backing out of the garage.

On the whole drive over, Rachel's on autopilot. She thinks about Quinn and Santana together, and if it's even possible that they went through with what Mercedes and Tina were implying, but the images that bombard her mind are unwanted, so she dismisses the thought and instead focuses on the dark road ahead of her.

Santana is out on the porch, shivering violently in the freezing cold when Rachel pulls into the driveway. Rachel hurriedly gets out of the car and stands before her—her _what_ , best friend?—entirely unsure of what to do. Santana's still in her red dress from earlier, without a coat, her arms wrapped around her body as she rocks back and forth on the bottom step. Her dark hair is a mess as the wind blows it around her face and loose strands get stuck to the tears streaming down her rosy cheeks.

“Santana, what happened?” she asks stupidly, but Santana only shakes her head. She cries quietly, and Rachel doesn’t think twice before sitting down on the steps beside Santana, gathering her best friend up in her arms when she starts to cry even harder.

Rachel holds on to Santana tightly as she sobs into her shoulder, and she doesn’t let go, even after Santana falls asleep. Rachel’s freezing, but she doesn’t move a muscle. She strokes Santana’s hair, and watches long eyelashes flutter against pale skin as a cloud puffs out between Santana’s lips every time she exhales.

Santana's a wreck, and Rachel's terrified, but she doesn't leave her. She'll never leave her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope this wasn't too painful to read. sorry to do that to you, my lovely readers, but it's imperative for Santana's character development and her journey to get over from Britt that they suffer a bit. from this moment, it's been kind of difficult to tell how Santana's feeling and where exactly her mind is, which is why i'll be delving into her perspective for the next installment of the series. a lot of you have been saying this is a slow burn, and while I agree, I don't want anyone to think i'm just dragging this story on for no reason. I already have the whole thing planned out, and I am very excited to see how you guys respond to the next few stories of this series.

**Author's Note:**

> I replaced the names from the write-up on Wikipedia just in case no one understood my A Midsummer Night's Dream reference: 
> 
> Rachel and Santana have escaped to the same forest in hopes of eloping. Gwen, desperate to reclaim Daniel's love, tells Daniel about the plan and he follows them in hopes of killing Santana. Gwen continually makes advances towards Daniel, promising to love him more than Rachel. However, he rebuffs her with cruel insults against her.
> 
> Oh, and Angela's just that fairy who's around and watches everyone act like idiots.


End file.
